


It Is Not Enough

by Hevheia



Series: The Old Guard Duolingo Prompts [9]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Inspired by Pygmalion and Galatea (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, i just love greek mythology and couldn't resist okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hevheia/pseuds/Hevheia
Summary: Yusuf has always loved marble. Ever since he first set foot in the workshop where he started his apprenticeship as a little boy, he felt as if he understood it. As if it shared its secrets only with him.Or a Joenicky Pygmalion AU.Part of the The Old Guard Duolingo prompts series: a series I started posting on tumblr where I take random sentences from duolingo and use them as prompts for small drabbles of our favourite immortals!
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Old Guard Duolingo Prompts [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952467
Comments: 16
Kudos: 117





	It Is Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: It is not enough (Δεν είναι αρκετό)

Yusuf has always loved marble. Ever since he first set foot in the workshop where he started his apprenticeship as a little boy, he felt as if he understood it. As if it shared its secrets only with him.

He listens closely to the marble while working. He strokes its soft, unworked surface and feels how it sings beneath his skin. Always another melody, always another truth to be uncovered.

As he caresses the block of marble before him, Yusuf knows by its song it will be unlike anything he has ever made before.

He takes his tools in hand and goes to work, following wherever the marble leads him. there is something about this piece, about what is hidden beneath and waiting to be unveiled. It awakens a tentative excitement in Yusuf’s stomach, a longing almost. A longing to get to know the voice that sings inside.

Some people say a god is working through Yusuf, that he is favored by none other than Apollo himself and all the muses combined. Yusuf waves their praise away with a smile and a joke. He does not wish to ire the gods with foolish hubris. He knows the tragedies too well for that.

Still, sometimes in the intimate, songful silence between him and the marble, he feels a glow within him, a wind breathing swift precision into his hands. Sometimes it seems as if they are glowing a little as well. He feels it even more as he’s working on this piece. The glow giving off a warmth, the wind picking up to a freeing blaze, his hands shimmering as shyly as the marble they are working on.

It is a man he is uncovering. Not a god or a nymph or a mythological figure like his usual work. Or at least not a god the world has knowledge of yet, for by the sound of his song, Yusuf slowly becomes convinced he might be one after all. Yusuf unveils his arms, his broad shoulders, the tunic draped across his chest, his narrow hips, strong calves, elegant feet. He holds his breath without realizing as he works on the face.

When he takes a step back to look at his progress, he has to sit down for a while. Even in this rough stage, the statue’s beauty seizes Yusuf by the throat, making it hard to breathe. It has grown dark around him. He has worked into the small hours of the night again unable to stop as if a fire burned inside him.

The next day, he continues. And the day after and after and after. Inch by inch, the man inside the marble is exposed. Inch by inch, the melody sounds louder, clearer, making Yusuf’s heart beat in answer. Yusuf’s hands are gentle as a lover’s, the carvings of his chisel are soft kisses planted on heated skin. As he touches the marble, a shiver runs through him, a thrill he has never felt before. The longing has grown so strong it is almost painful.

He works in a frenzy. He does nothing else besides maybe sleep and eat when he thinks of it. Friends stop by, Nile, Andromache, Quynh, Sebastien, Lykon. He asks them to leave again because it feels as if they are intruding. As if his workshop has become a temple and they do not understand the sacred ground they walk upon.

And then the melody ceases and Yusuf’s hands stop and he knows he has unveiled the truth in the marble. He stays utterly still for what feels like hours, barely daring to move. He is not ready to see what he has created. He cannot wait a second longer.

Slowly, he takes a step back, keeping his eyes on the ground. His hands are trembling as they leave the marble. He looks up and his tools clatter to the ground.

He is standing there, a newborn god. Gently leaning on one leg, his right arm raised in an elegant pose. He’s staring straight ahead with his large eyes, a barely noticable smile plays around the corners of his mouth. To call him beautiful would be an insult. He truly is what the poets would call divine.

Yusuf hasn’t even painted him yet, but already he is lifelike. As if he will step from his pedestal and walk to Yusuf and smile for him and take his hand and-

A tear escapes Yusuf, getting tangled in his beard. He lets out a shaky breath and reaches out his hand. As his fingers touch the marble, he has to close his eyes and breathe. Where his skin touches the stone, the familiar glow beams and crashes into him as a wave upon the island cliffs. He shudders but opens his eyes again for he cannot help but marvel at the beauty of the man, of the statue.

He steps closer, into the statue’s space. His fingers trail along his cold, lifeless skin, intertwining with his. What would it feel like to be touched by them, Yusuf wonders. His breath stills at the thought. He leans closer, pressing his ear to the chest, listening, hoping. only silence answers, causing his throat to tighten and his eyes to sting.

His fingers cling to the statue’s hand now, and his other hand reaches to caress the cheek as he looks into his eyes. Somehow, he can see the ocean in them, the ocean that calls and pulls him in. He inches closer, closer, closer, stepping on the base with the statue. Everywhere they are touching, Yusuf feels as if he is set aflame.

An inch from the statue’s lips, their noses grazing each other softly, Yusuf pauses. He imagines breath ghosting over his own skin, lashes lowered as eyes dip down to his lips. He closes the distance.

It is cold and unmoving and heartbreaking and thrilling and staggering and life-altering. It is too much. It is not enough. Not nearly enough.

He presses even closer, a strangled sound coming from his throat and silent tears escaping him. Did he anger the gods after all, he asks himself. To make them torment him so, to make him into one of their tragedies.

But then, ever so faintly, a melody resounds. A song that has his heart sing in answer. Beneath his lips, cold stone yields to warmth and softness. In his hand, another tightens his grip. Against his chest, a heart comes to life.

Yusuf opens his eyes and breaks the kiss to meet ocean eyes, shimmering softly. His hair is brown, his cheeks blushing.

“Hello, my Yusuf,” the statue, the _man_ , says, taking Yusuf’s hand on his cheek in his own and kissing the inside of his wrist.

“You… you…” Yusuf breathes. “What is your name?”

“Nicolò,” Nicolò says with a smile that is meant for no one but Yusuf.

“Nicolò,” Yusuf repeats, and it sounds like a song.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'd love to hear what you think. <3


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